When nighmare falls and dreams are few
Thou, weak forgotten, empty, shattered
Who gazes upon the ones who's flattered
Behold what I am telling you:
When frozen to the bone marrow
Thine will denies to follow mind
And mind expects no path to find.
So what is left to you? The sorrow.
But bitter pill might be the cure
Embrace as friend thine fatal damage
Be lead by it, accept the challenge
Arisen from this fire pure
Who never tasted a defeat
Won't ever know the taste of feat
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© Copyright: Владимир Войд, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120060500717
Свидетельство о публикации №120060500717
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